“You NUMA people are becoming tiresome.”
“I was just telling Joe the same thing before you arrived. We don’t want to wear out our welcome. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way. Saddle up, guys.”
Zavala, who was in the lead, tried to step around Brynhild. Out of habit he flashed his trademark smile. Brynhild was a freak, he reasoned, but she was still a female. The famous Zavala charm was lost on the giantess. She reached out and grabbed him by the shirt, shook him like a terrier with a rat, then with her great strength threw him onto the floor. Zavala quickly re gained his feet. Ever the gentleman when it came to women of any size or age, he smiled again. “I know how you feel, but this isn’t a good way to end our relationship.”
Brynhild replied with a backhand slap across his face. Joe staggered back a few steps and wiped the blood that was trick ling from a corner of his mouth. Brynhild cocked her right fist for another blow. Austin moved in to protect Joe. He was watching Brynhild’s hands, so when she lashed out to the left leg in a classic kickboxing maneuver he was caught by surprise. Her boot smashed into his chest. He felt ribs crack from the tremendous force even before he slammed against the floor with an impact that rattled his teeth.
Seeing Austin fall removed all of Zavala’s inhibitions against striking a woman.
“That makes two sucker punches,” he said softly.
Joe had financed his way through the New York Maritime College by boxing professionally as a middleweight. He won most of his fights, many by knockouts. He had gained weight since college but still managed to keep down to a fighting trim of one hundred seventy-five pounds. He was five foot ten, which gave Brynhild a height advantage of about a foot. She probably outweighed him by fifty pounds, none of it fat.
Brynhild’s kick had put her in a good position to unload a roundhouse right aimed at removing Zavala’s head from his shoulders. Zavala’s old ring instincts were coming back. He saw the punch coming and ducked as the right fist grazed the top of his head, and then he drove a left hard into Brynhild’s midsection. The effort almost cost him a broken wrist, but it threw off his opponent’s timing. She threw a long, loose left that caught air. Tucking his chin in and bringing his hands up, he tried a three-punch combo that had decked more than one opponent in his college days. He followed up a quick left jab with a short right cross and a left hook.
The right missed, but the left hook caught Brynhild solidly in the jaw. Her eyes went glassy, but only for a second. She stepped back as he moved in and shot a hard overhand right to the heart that took his breath away. While he sucked in air she got past his lowered guard and clouted him in the midsection. Zavala absorbed the blow with his hard stomach muscles and swung a right and a left aimed at her jaw. Both missed. Brynhild had been surprised by Joe’s quick and skillful reaction, but now that she had his measure she stood off and used her superior height and reach to pound him with the long artillery.
Zavala guessed her strategy and tried to move in for an uppercut to her chin, but each time she lobbed haymakers at him while staying safely out of reach. His left eye was partially closed, and his nose was bleeding. He threw a long overhand left that caught Brynhild in the throat, but it cost him another stinging punch to the head in return. In spite of her size, she was as fast as any middleweight he had ever seen. The old ring aficionados used to say that a good big man can beat a good small man any day. Zavala hoped the same truism didn’t apply to a big woman.
He kept doggedly on, his timing completely off, throwing soggy punches that caught air. He’d only last another minute. Then she’d finish him off with a couple of neck-snapping kicks.
Quite unexpectedly, Brynhild lowered her guard. Before Zavala’s weary reflexes could take advantage, the giant woman collapsed in a heap. Joe stood there stupidly and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He saw Gamay standing over Brynhild, holding one of the wooden shields from the ship in both hands.
“There’s more than one way to swat a Viking bitch,” she said with fury in her eyes.
Austin had managed to get to his feet. Holding his cracked ribs, he looked at the others and said, “I hope we feel better than we look.”
“I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when we’re out of here,” Zavala said through puffy lips.
“Wait,” Austin said, looking around. “We need a diversion.”
Without hesitation he went over to one of the braziers near the boat. He picked it up by the metal legs and dumped the burning coals onto the boat’s deck. Then he went on board and tossed the shields into a pile. The flames from the impromptu bonfire flared up the mast and licked the bottom of the hide sail. Within seconds the square sail was a sheet of fire. Black, noxious smoke from the blaze curled up to the roof and began to move horizontally along the ceiling.
With his work done, Austin led the way to the doors. They waited off to the side as the chamber filled with smoke. Within minutes the big doors swung open, and a group of shouting guards piled into the hall. The new supply of fresh air fueled the fire and sent the black clouds billowing throughout the Great Hall. The guards who ran directly to the boat never saw the three shadowy figures slip through the open portal.
Chapter 40
Inside the domed underwater facility Francesca was becoming increasingly frantic. One more piece in place, and her plan would be complete. She didn’t dare make her move until she knew the others were safe, especially after Brynhild’s hurried exit. She glanced around. The technicians were busy currying favor with the directors who milled around tossing back cups of purified water as if it were Moet champagne. The party wouldn’t last forever. Someone was bound to notice her continued attention to the control panel.
The babble of conversation stopped suddenly, and Francesca turned to see three bizarre figures step out of the staff elevator. She gasped at the sight of her friends. They were almost unrecognizable. Gamay was limping, her beautiful dark red hair looked as if it had been caught in an egg beater, and her arms and legs were marked with angry bruises. The white coveralls Austin and Zavala wore were streaked with blood and soot. Zavala’s face was puffy, and he had adopted a Popeye squint.
They shoved their way through the crowd and came up to Francesca. Austin managed a grin. “Sorry we took so long. We ran into a few, uh, obstacles.”
“Thank God you’re here.”
Austin put his arm around her shoulders. “We don’t plan to stay. We’ve got a taxi sitting under this thing. Can we offer you a lift?”
Francesca said, “There is one more thing I have to do.” She went over to the control panel and punched a series of numbers into the computer keyboard. She watched the digital gauges for a moment. Satisfied all was going as planned, she turned and said, “I’m ready.”
Zavala had been keeping the Gogstad people cowed with his weapon in the event someone had an unexpected attack of courage. Austin inspected the board of directors with curiosity. They returned his gaze with glares of pure hatred. At one point the Englishman named Grimley stepped forward. He stuck his nose in Austin’s face and said, “We demand that you tell us who you are and what you want here.”
Austin laughed unpleasantly, put his hand on the man’s bony chest, and shoved him back with the others. “Who is this clown?” he asked Francesca.
“He and his friends are a symbol of all that is wrong with the world.”
As an amateur philosopher Austin had long been intrigued by questions of good and evil, but metaphysical discussions would have to wait. He ignored the Englishman and took Francesca’s arm, guiding her toward the exit that would take them down to the air lock and the submersible. Gamay followed, then Zavala, who covered their rear.
They had taken only a few steps when the freight elevator doors flew open and about twenty guards spilled out into the lab. They quickly surrounded the fugitives and relieved Zavala of his gun.
Brynhild strode from the elevator, and the guards stepped aside to let her through. Her blond hair was disheveled as a result of the encounter with Gamay’s shield, and her pale face was smudged with soot. But her disarray didn’t diminish her imposing physique and the malevolence in her pale blue eyes. Quivering with rage, she pointed to the NUMA crew as if she were about to unleash a bolt of lightning.
“Kill them,” she ordered.
The Gogstad directors murmured with pleasure at the turn of events, and their eyes glittered in anticipation of the slaughter of the upstarts. But as the guards raised their weapons and pre pared to unleash a lethal volley, Francesca stepped in front of her battered friends. In a voice whose strength and tenor evoked her reign as a white goddess, she shouted, “Stop!”
“Get out of the way, or they’ll kill you as well,” Brynhild ordered.
Francesca thrust her chin out. “I don’t think so.”
